


Neither Reason Nor Rhyme

by l_cloudy



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, F/M, The Enchanted Forest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 00:29:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3957640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/l_cloudy/pseuds/l_cloudy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thief Emma Swan meets Prince Charles in the Enchanted Forest. She doesn't want to fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neither Reason Nor Rhyme

**Author's Note:**

> Don't mind me, just posting my CS fics here for easier access.  
> Title from [_Mumford and Sons_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5kx_LbzasKU)

They met in a seedy tavern in a small town just like any other, their eyes finding each other above the noises and the crowd, and his inviting smile was enough for Emma to decide that, damn it, she had a right to have fun every once in a while.

And so she went to him, ignoring Leroy’s sighs and Graham’s inquisitive looks and David’s exasperated ones, promising that no, she wouldn’t be out late – not that they would know anyway; those men all slept like rocks – and yes, she remembered that they had an important client to meet in the morning.

(“Client,” Ruby had told her once. “I like that word. It makes you sound so… respectable.” 

It was funny because it wasn’t true; and that was why Emma liked the word so much.)

He’d been waiting for her at his table in the corner, smirk still firm in place, a spark of warmth in those impossible blue eyes, a bottle of rum already ordered for the two of them to share. She’d found that cocky, just the way she liked it; and if it’d seemed strange, that a man so refined in that elegant coat would enjoy a pirate’s drink, well, Emma’s tastes were hardly usual either. He’d been charming too, with his pointless small talk and firm resolve to keep his gaze firmly trailed to her face – and her face only. Emma had thought he would make an excellent distraction, and an excellent memory; and how wrong she’d been.

“What brings you to… this lovely little place?” he’d asked her, and Emma had to laugh; because rum or not the disdain in his voice made it clear that he was so out of place in that tavern. There was a story there, she’d known it even then; but nothing she’d cared to know about – and so Emma had just smiled and leaned in and felt the barest hint of satisfaction when his eyes flickered to her cleavage as she moved. “You see, that’s not really what I’m here for.”

“Then tell me, love,” he’d said – and damn it, she was usually one to hate all those stupid patronizing pet names, but it sounded so good sliding from his tongue. “What are you really here for?”

Well, she'd thought then, this has been easy.

She’d told him to show her to his room, because he looked definitely like someone who would have a nice, comfy room in the town’s best inn; and it’d been so long since she’d last enjoyed the comforts of a feather bed. He’d frowned instead, just for a moment, and that should have been her first hint – but, by then, she’d been too gone to care, inebriated by rum and lust and the way the cold night air brushed under her skirts and she could only imagine how it would feel when he’d be the one to –

“I don’t think we should,” he’d said, and Emma had almost laughed, because he’d bought her drinks all night and now was telling how they shouldn’t, and it wasn’t usually the other way around with men? Or so she’d been told – it was never like that with her; Emma was always the hunter and never the prey.

He’d said it was rash and she would regret it and Emma had laughed in his face and promised him, no feelings. “Just ships passing in the night.”

Never to meet again, she’d thought.

And she’d fallen asleep in a feather bed that night, in a tangle of sweat and sheets and limbs, tired and sated and completely drained; only to wake up in an empty bed in the golden lights of the morning, her head pounding, alcohol on her breath, and incredibly, irretrievably late.

“Oh, hell.”

“What’s that, love?” she’d heard him call from somewhere around her, making her jump in surprise. “Does your head hurt?”

And the bastard had been looking serious and concerned, not even a hint of teasing. Not to mention impeccably dressed , reading some of book at a desk in the corner, looking perfectly composed. No person should look so well adjusted so early in the morning.

She’d dressed quickly, noticing how her dress had been folded neatly and laid on a nearby chair - Emma had never quite gotten the point of morning-after-modesty anyway. “No, it’s just,” oh, she so wished she’d time to do anything more than comb her hair with her fingers. “I’ve got an appointment this morning, I think I’m late.”

Damn, David had been right.

“Well,” he’d begun. “No, you’re not.”

(She should have known.)

Thankfully, neither David nor Graham where downstairs when she arrived – and she so should have known; the inn where he was staying was their meeting place, after all – and he joined her shortly after, even had the gall to shrug when Emma glared at him.

“You did say no feelings, Emma,” he reminded her,  as if it that was possible now that they were working together –and hell, there was a reason why she’d never given him her name. Most of her contacts and clients only knew her as Swan, but whoever had recommended her clearly given out more information than necessary. Damn.

“Well, Your Highness,” she’d nodded at him, still glaring –

(Prince Charles, of the Eastern Lands, even if he’d introduced himself as Killian, sailor and gambler.)

\- “I do hope you’re aware,” Emma gave him her best smile. “Keep pulling this shit, and you’re going to have to pay double.”

He only grinned, again – and he still managed to look so damn attractive, no matter what. “Best deal I’ve ever done.”

(The next morning, the first day of their… collaboration, Emma didn’t even look at him; and neither she did the day after, or the one after that. It was only on the tenth morning that she returned his continuous glances, and asked him, why'd you do that for?)

The boys were both surprised to see her when they arrived, but Emma could see the relief in David’s eyes that she hadn’t been late, for once, and made up a story about how she’d came in early because she couldn’t sleep. Next to her, Killian – Charles, she had to remember, his name was Charles – didn’t even blink an eye at their banter, before calmly speaking up what it had to be the most foolish idea Emma had ever heard.

“I need you,” he began, “to help me break into the Dark One’s castle".

(What’d you did that for? she asked, not quite managing to hide the hurt in her voice – yes, she’d promised no feelings, but he’d lied to her. She shouldn’t have cared, but still she did.)

“That’s insane,” David said – bless him, always the voice of reason; and the stupid prince just nodded.

“Then is exactly the kind of job you do, isn’t it?”

He told them a story about a deal made so many generations ago, a family curse and firstborn sons, and how he had a brother who would marry soon for matter of state, condemning whatever child he might have to live under the weight of the Dark One’s shadow – until the day the child would be taken away.

“And that is why you came to us,” Emma realized, and he only smiled.

“Plausible deniability and all that,” Charles nodded. “My brother knows nothing about it, and never will until we return.”

Until, not if. Emma liked his confidence –  almost as much as she’d liked his cocky smile and the way he’d called her _love_ – and the plan was just crazy enough that it might just work. After all, who would ever go after the Dark One?

And that must have also been why he’d come to her, and not to… more celebrated thieves such as Robin Hood. Despite everything, she was glad he had.

(“I didn’t mean to,” he answered, eventually. “I only wanted to see… what kind of person you were, you and your friends; and then you were just – so beautiful.”

And what could she say to that?)

Break in, steal a dagger, get out. “I know where he keeps it,” Killian – she couldn’t bring herself to think about him in any other way – assured. “I once knew…” he paused then, just slightly. “I knew someone, who told me where the Dark One keeps his treasures. Once we’re in, it’ll be easy.”

It wasn’t easy.

It was one hell of a job, the hardest, most dangerous thing Emma had ever done, but she never even entertained the idea of giving up. Not even after… Graham, not even after the night she cried herself to sleep in Killian’s arms; she just woke up the next morning, and went on. Now it was personal.

They left town that very evening.

(“You can call me Killian, you know,” he told her after she’d stuttered the wrong name and apologized for it for what had to be hundredth time. “I prefer it anyways. It’s what my brother calls me.”

“Good,” Emma said. “You still can’t call me love.”

But he did it anyway.)

“You should marry me,” he told her on the day they finally, finally reached the Dark One’s castle, just hour before they were either going to get what they wanted – or die. His kisses tasted of desperation, and Emma had forced herself to laugh in self-deprecation.

“Your life’s not for me,” she forced out, to hide how much she’d found herself liking the idea. “My life… my life is different.”

Her life was a constant walk on the edge of danger, on the wrong side of the law more often than not, it was risk and Graham and Ruby back home and David and Snow’s newborn child she’d yet to meet – but later, much later, after everything was said and done, after she’d lost a friend and he’d lost a hand and they’d still managed to get out of it alive –

Then he asked again.

This time, she said yes.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://www.qvcksilver.tumblr.com/).


End file.
